There are some people who change your life just by being in it. For me, that person was Keith–my husband, my best friend, and the love of my life. Our journey together was deeply rooted in faith, love, laughter, and the quiet strength that comes from knowing God is walking beside you.
Keith and I shared a bond that words often fail to describe. What stood out most about him was his incredible sense of humor–dry, clever, and always perfectly timed. He had a natural gift for making me laugh, even when I didn’t feel like smiling. Whether he was gently teasing me or slipping in a quick one-liner, it was always funny. I was truly blessed to have a husband who made me laugh far more often than he ever made me cry. The joy he brought into my life was constant, and it’s one of the things I cherish most about our time together.
We got married in 2017, and it was one of the happiest days of our lives. Keith wasn’t someone who had always dreamed of getting married, but that day, his smile said it all. For whatever reason–though I believe it was Jesus–our paths came together in a way only God could have orchestrated.
At the end of 2021, Keith began to get sick. In January 2022, we received the diagnosis: Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. That year was a rollercoaster. At first, the chemotherapy seemed to be working, and Keith truly believed he was going to beat it. But in July, the cancer came back. He began immunotherapy in August, but shortly after, it led to complications that put him into a coma.
Every day, I prayed. Because I wasn’t allowed to stay overnight, I sat by his bedside for ten hours each day. I would then go home, work for four hours, sleep for a few, and return to the hospital to be with him. Doctors weren’t sure he would ever wake up. But after nine days in a coma, he did.
Keith spent a total of 45 days in the hospital. During that time, he shared something extraordinary with me. He told me he saw the gates of heaven. He was given the choice to go through them – but in that moment, he saw my face. He told me he heard me say, “Keith, come back to me.” I didn’t know I was pulling him back – from health, from peace, from paradise. But I believe Jesus allowed us a little more time.
He lived another six months. We made the most of it, though much of that time was spent in nursing homes where he tried to recover. One facility gave him Covid, and in another, he suffered an injury that dashed the hopes of him ever walking again. But none of that seemed to matter once the cancer returned in January 2023. The doctor said there was nothing more they could do.
Keith lived another month and a half after that. I was grateful to be working from home and able to spend nearly every moment with him. That time–however difficult–was a blessing. He was here, and we were together.
At the beginning of March 2023, Keith was in the hospital for sepsis. That week his body slowly declined. Each day was more unbearable than the last. I sat beside him, watching as he gradually lost the ability to speak and to move. He began to stare off into the distance, and with every passing moment, it became harder to accept what was happening.
When I left the hospital each night, I carried with me a deep anger and heartbreak. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to someone like Keith–a man of such strong faith, kindness, and goodness. I begged God to heal him. I pleaded for more time. But I was given the time I was meant to have, and in my heart, I know it was a blessing.
The morning he passed, I was awakened at 5:30 a.m.–rare thing for me, as I’ve never been a morning person. But something stirred me from sleep. I went to his side, sat next to him in the hospice bed, and noticed his breathing starting to slow. I called the hospice nurse, who quietly came in, checked his heart and breath, and nodded that it was ‘time’. She then opened the blinds and said, “Keith! Look! It’s a beautiful day. Look how beautiful it is outside.” And just like that, he slipped away – peacefully, gently. No pain, no struggle. I was grateful for that. I stayed by his side for another six hours, holding his hand, thinking about all the beautiful memories we shared.
That afternoon, I went home utterly exhausted. I slept for just a few hours before having to speak with the funeral home. That night, something unexpected happened. I became deeply afraid–of the silence, of being in my home alone. A fear I had never known before overtook me. I remember crying out to Jesus in desperation: “Lord, if this is the path You’ve chosen for me, please take this fear away. I can’t live like this.” And in an instant, it vanished. Not gradually – instantly. The fear was gone. I believe with all my heart that Jesus answered my prayer in that moment.
That was just one of many times Jesus carried me. The first year of grief was the hardest–dark, heavy, and full of questions. I found myself wrestling with doubt, even losing my faith for a time. I wondered if I would ever see Keith again, and the thought terrified me. But then I began reading stories, and watching videos, of near-death experiences. People who had come so close to death–who had seen Heaven, seen Jesus, and seen their loved ones again. Those stories pulled me out of the darkness. They reminded me of the hope I’d lost. Jesus restored my faith.
Over these past two and a half years, I have cried out to Jesus more times than I can count. And every time, He has met me there. It was because of Keith that I found my way back to faith. We shared hobbies and interests, but it was our shared belief in Christ that was the strongest part of our marriage. It made us unshakable.
Keith may no longer be by my side, but I carry his love–and the faith we shared–with me every day. Through the darkest moments, I’ve come to see that grief and love are deeply intertwined, and that Jesus has never left me alone in either. I know this story isn’t over. One day, I will see Keith again–and that time, I’ll never have to say goodbye.
“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;
and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying,
neither shall there be any more pain:
for the former things are passed away.”
— Revelation 21:4
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